


The Reluctant Khaleesi

by Poetgirl616



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetgirl616/pseuds/Poetgirl616
Summary: A mad plan to save Sansa is hatched by her husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister. She journeys further than anyone in her family has ever gone, in search of a new life and . . . a husband!
Relationships: Khal Drogo/Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	The Reluctant Khaleesi

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Game of Thrones or ASoIAF, if I did Drogo would still be alive. Also, a lot of crap that happened to the Starks and other awesome Houses would not have went down.**

Prologue 

Sansa stared blankly out her chamber window, her ice blue eyes unseeing as the city below burst with movement and activity. The damage of the Battle of the Blackwater was noticeable even from a distance. 

The queen hadn't sent for her since the abomination that was their talk regarding Sansa's future, now that the king has set her aside in favor of Margaery. She had hinted in a not to subtle way that arrangements could be made for her to marry another loyal member of House Lannister, in Joffrey's stead. Of course, the queen had said, he wouldn't be as handsome as the king and Sansa would be lucky if he glanced her way at all. She wasn't worthy of the honor, truly, but she couldn't marry just anyone after all her time spent with the Crown. Definitely not a Lord from the Highgarden, the castle was infested with enough roses as it was.

Cersei did not name anyone throughout the conversation, but then she hadn't intended to. She wanted Sansa afraid. It worked. 

The options for said husband were terrifying. 

Sansa would rather marry the Hound than any man under this castle's expansive roof. He wasn't the most handsome or honorable man, but he hadn't beaten her when ordered and he hadn't taken pleasure in her pain. As Joffrey does, as every other member of the current Kingsguard do. She would fling herself from the tallest battlement in the order ever came for her to marry Ser Meryn Trant. 

Another terrifying thought occurred to her. Surely Lord Tywin wouldn't seek her hand for himself? He is far older than her and from what little she's seen, a cold man. Colder than any man she'd ever known and hard in a way no Northman ever was. 

_Stupid girl. He would not waste his remaining years bothering with you._ She chastised herself harshly. _He has an heir, a second son, and a daughter to build his legacy. He needs not a wife._

Staring at the city, tears and emotions both welled. She wished that she'd never met Joffrey, or King Robert, or any of them. She wished fervently that the fallen Kings' party had never set foot in Winterfell, hadn't invited her father to this snake's pit. Most of all that she hadn't been a spoiled, foolish girl in trusting the then prince and the queen. She knew wishing wouldn't change the past, nor her part in it, but she couldn't help a small part of her wishing these things all the same. 

The girl from Winterfell, hidden away in a small box in her mind, hoped Robb or Jon would find a way to save her before whatever plans the queen had bore fruit. Joffrey and the Kingsguard weren't her only tormentors, Cersei shared her son's enjoyment in Sansa's pain and humiliation. Where one preferred more physical methods of delivery, the other favored attacks to mind and emotion. 

She relented her watch when Shae brought the midday meal, a meager thing composed of scraps from the queen's table. What hadn't been fed to the dogs already. 

"You must keep your form for your betrothed, little dove." Cersei had said the first time such a meal was presented, her mouth twisted in that sickly sweet smile she donned when she played the concerned Queen Mother. "You must appeal to him, so you might bless him with sons, Gods willing." 

The last two words were nearly sneered, Cersei's stance on the Gods unchanged. 

Sansa had forced herself to smile back, as was expected of her, agreeing. She sang the pretty songs the Hound accused her of singing. 

She didn't want to give a Lannister supporter sons, didn't want to marry anyone under a lion banner. She wanted them to fall, to fail in the war against Robb and the North. To be cast down from their proud castle and into the mud, dirtied by filth and disgrace. She wanted them to pay for what they did to her Lord Father and all of his household they slaughtered. 

She wanted all Lannisters to die. 

Her anger died suddenly, replaced by a cold rush of fear. It was dangerous to entertain such thoughts, even in private. She knew what awful wrath the kind had, he would punish her horribly if he found out. He always did. 

She picked at her food, biting her lower lip as she pushed all thoughts of treason away. 

She finished her meal and thanked Shae quietly. 

The near endless number of potential suitors plagued her mind for the rest of the day, even as she practiced her stitches and mended an old gown the best she could. even as she tried not to think about it. 

Even as she nibbled on her supper, hardly tasting any of it. 

_Please, don't let it be Ser Meryn or Boros Blount_. Her silent prayers were frequent in that respect, as she readied herself for bed that night. Hoping that the Old Gods and the New, that any Gods-if there were truly any-would listen and heed her prayers. 

Her sleep was fitful and riddled with nightmares. 

**Tywin Lannister's Chambers, Tower of the Hand**

Tyrion swirled the wine around his goblet, staring at the small waves of dark red against gold. Fitting, he thought, since his House colors were both. He contented himself with drinking as he waited, somewhat patiently, for his father to finish writing missives and other duties he saw fit to finish while in the presence of his least favored child.

The soft scratching of writing and the crackle of the fire the only sounds in the chamber. They had been for the greater part of an hour.

Cersei, however, was not so patient.

"I will not be ignored any longer. We have matters to discuss." She dared attempt to seize control of the situation. Her golden hair in elegant twists and an equally regal golden embroidered gown to match with not so subtle lions on her bodice. "Sansa should be married to a member of our House or some Lord we should reward for his fealty." 

Tywin Lannister glared at his daughter, not setting his parchment aside for a moment. When he was certain her outburst was finished, he returned his eyes to his work. "Lady Sansa will marry whomever I deem fit, whomever we require her to wed. She will do so when I decide the time is right, not whenever you choose to torment the girl."

Cersei puffed up, enraged. "The sooner she is wed the sooner-"

He didn't allow her to complete her argument. "I will hear no more from you on this matter."

Tyrion hid his amusement behind his goblet, pleased that his sister was being metaphorically knocked down a peg. She needed it, to remind herself that while she is Queen Mother, she was not the queen and had no true power here.

A healthy dose of humiliation would do her some good.

"Do you have a House in mind, father?" He asked carefully, once Cersei settled down in quiet seething rage.

"I do." Father answered stoically as usual, not even glancing up from his parchment.

He waited, drawing a decent amount of wine from his goblet. When the silence stretched longer than two drinks, he thought that long enough.

"Are you going to share the name of this House?" Tyrion asked bluntly, tiring of his father's game. He could guess, but there are too many probabilities and no guarantees at the moment. "I cannot make good on my duties as Master of Coin in the event of her wedding,if I do not know whether I need to find money or merely direct it."

"Sansa Stark will be wed into House Lannister." Tywin answered in his usual bored drawl. "You will secure the key to the North for our House."

The wine soured in his stomach.

"Father?" He hated to sound like a small boy, but he wanted to be sure he'd heard correctly.

It was almost too cruel, to the girl and to himself. Lady Sansa Stark had been tormented by Cersei and Joffrey, beaten by the kingsguard on his nephews orders and other atrocities in the short time he was in the city. If the stories of what his nephew had done before were to be believed, this was common behavior.

She had barely managed to escape marrying Joffrey, only to be married to another Lannister in his place. A cruel jape of the Gods. 

"You will wed Sansa Stark in the Sept of Baelor the night after next, the arrangements have been seen to."

The spiteful expression on Cersei's face disappeared, an awful glee replacing it.

"She's hardly more than a child. Joffrey took her father's head and has done everything possible to make her life torture. You can't expect her to willingly open her legs for me."

"You will put an heir in her belly, as is your duty."

"I _will not_ rape her."

"You will do as you're bid."

Cersei snickered in her chair, her emerald green eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

"As will you." Tywin turned his attention to his daughter, his missives long forgotten.

Her laughter died, confusion in its place. "What?"

"You will marry again, you are young enough to bear another child at least." He explained, pinning her with his signature cold stare. "You have a choice of Loras Tyrell or his brother Willas."

"I will not." 

"You will and put to bed these disgusting rumors of you and Jaime."

Tyrion kept his peace, gulping the rest of his wine and taking his leave. This conversation didn't concern him anymore and he needed rest.

He was getting married.

His heart was heavy and his gut filled with lead. 


End file.
